


when will you come home?

by orphan_account



Category: VIXX
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-09 03:34:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4332279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>hongbin was 11 when they met for the first time; and 19 when they met again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when will you come home?

**Author's Note:**

> [[mini playlist](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dPJLu_wcTKc&index=1&list=PLoARowib41QkQWHyhoYarWhbxNAiiAmWw)]

_If you must mourn, my love  
Mourn with the moon and the stars up above  
If you must mourn,  
Don’t do it alone_

 

'Is it a head cold?' thirteen-year-old Hongbin asked his father, who shook his head; and told him to be quiet. 'You said she's sick,' he continued, whispering this time, 'but she doesn't look sick. Is it because I left the kitchen window open?'  
  
'No,' his father said. 'Why don't you go next door? Your mother needs to rest.'  
  
Hongbin, who didn’t know the severity of the situation, nodded cheerfully; and left. Out into the carpeted hall of Ivory Pines; a well endowed, fifteen floor apartment building in the Songpa District; he lived there since he was ten. He didn’t have to go far, only two feet away; maybe a handful of footsteps, and there: at Taekwoon’s front door, not bothering to knock because in the two years they’d known each other, Hongbin never had to knock.  
  
'Hyung?' he called softly.  
  
Nothing.  
  
Then a little bolder, a little louder, ‘Hyung, are you here?’ and from the back room, a sound not unfamiliar; something between a groan and a growl: Taekwoon. ‘I’m coming in.’  
  
He toed off his shoes by the front door, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket; and crossing the living room, saw Taekwoon coming from the bedroom. In his hands: a notebook flipped open, and a pen behind his ear.  
  
'My mom's sick,' Hongbin told him. 'I think it's a head cold.'  
  
'Did you leave the window open again?'  
  
He shrugged, blushing faintly.  
  
'You can't do that. It's winter. You'll get everyone sick,' then back into the bedroom, eyes scanning the book in his hands. 'If you're going to stay, you have to help me with my history homework.'  
  
'Aw, hyung, that's  _boring_.’  
  
'I help you, don't I?'  
  
'That's different,' shuffling his bare feet against the carpet, head down. 'You've already learned all the things I'm learning.'  
  
'Then think of this as practice.' Taekwoon watched Hongbin expectantly; and sighed when he didn't answer. 'Fine. Help me, and I'll buy you dinner.'  
  
‘Really?’ wide grin brightening his face, Hongbin bunched his shoulders up. ‘ _Jajangmyeon_ , maybe?’  
  
‘Maybe. If you do a really good job helping me,’ but a lift at the corners of Taekwoon’s mouth told Hongbin he’d get what he wanted.  
  
So: onto the bedroom floor with Taekwoon’s homework spread out in front of them; Hongbin with his knees to his chest, and Taekwoon on his stomach, chin in his hands. Hongbin asked the questions on a spread sheet, and tried hard to pay attention to what answers Taekwoon gave; but who was he kidding? At thirteen, he couldn’t care less about history. But in the end, he got the meal he wanted, sat in a restaurant side by side; curled up close with his cheek resting to Taekwoon’s shoulder.  
  
It was how they always sat.  
  
-  
  
His mother’s head cold never quite went away, but instead gradually worsened until her skin was sallow and her eyes, glossy. She called for Hongbin a lot; asked him to sit with her, asked to hold his hand. He didn’t understand, not yet, for his father wouldn’t tell him; but he gave what little attention his mother asked for, feeling a deep pull in his chest he couldn’t identify.  
  
Taekwoon asked about her almost every day; he’d make dinner and bring it over, but she’d never eat it. Hongbin thought about telling him to stop, but something told him she’d be hurt if he did; so he kept quiet.  
  
'Have you talked to your dad yet?' Taekwoon asked one day after school, and the tone of his voice made Hongbin uneasy.  
  
'About what?'  
  
'Your mom.'  
  
'No. Should I?'  
  
'Maybe.'  
  
Panic bubbled up inside Hongbin’s chest; made him uncomfortable, scared; it was a feeling like there was something he didn’t know but needed to, because why would Taekwoon know, and not him? He chewed his lower lip.  
  
'Maybe not,' Taekwoon added quickly. He touched Hongbin's cheek. 'I'm only thinking out loud, don't listen to me.' He tried to smile; so obviously forced; and as silence stretched on; he began to fidget. 'Let me take you out.'  
  
Eyebrows pinched together, nose wrinkled, Hongbin asked: ‘Why are you being nice all of a sudden?’  
  
'…are you saying I'm normally mean?'  
  
'Hyung never takes me out,' mumbling, trying to hide his smile.  
  
'Bullshit!'  
  
And Hongbin, laughing loudly, hand over his mouth as he bumped his shoulder against Taekwoon’s chest.  
  
'Do you have a jacket?'  
  
Still giggling, he shook his head. ‘I’ll go get one—’  
  
'No,' grabbing Hongbin's arm a little too quickly. Taekwoon cleared his throat. 'It's fine you can wear one of mine.'  
  
The jacket was too long in the arms, too big in the shoulders; a pearly shade of black that made Hongbin’s skin look radiantly white, but it smelled like cologne; and to Hongbin, nothing smelled better than Taekwoon.  
  
They walked through Songpa toward the middle of the city; shoulders brushing, teeth chattering. Hongbin held the collar of Taekwoon’s jacket between his hands, held it close to his face, inhaling the smell more often than he’d ever admit; and laughed softly each time Taekwoon raised an eyebrow at him, asking:  _what the hell are you doing?_  
  
Ten minutes later and he was being glared at, Taekwoon’s mouth parted, disbelief written all over him.  
  
'What do you mean you want ice cream? It's the middle of the winter, you idiot.'  
  
'Hyung, be nice.'  
  
'You'll catch a cold.'  
  
'No, I have a great immune system.'  
  
Taekwoon scoffed, hands in his pockets; he turned away, probably hiding a smile for all Hongbin knew. ‘Says who?’  
  
'Well, I haven't caught what my mom has and I'm next to her every day. So, I think I can say— what is it, hyung?' the panic returned as Taekwoon stared at him, stared so blankly that Hongbin took a step back.  
  
'No, no it's nothing,' he rubbed the back of his neck. 'You just, you say some shit sometimes,' followed by a laugh so awkward it was almost painful to hear. 'Fine, we'll go.'  
  
'Woah.. you're agreeing? You really are being too nice. What gives, huh?'  
  
'Ah, this kid.. do you want me to say no, is that it?'  
  
'Not really.'  
  
'Then,' he put an arm around Hongbin's shoulders, 'let's go get your damn ice cream.'  
  
Taekwoon didn’t order anything because the parlor didn’t sell coffee or almond milk; but he swore over and over again that once Hongbin got a job, he was going to take them both out to dinner every night for a week to make up for how cold he was. Shivering with his hands in his pockets, he kept his head bowed, chin to his chest; but when Hongbin offered his ice cream, chocolate with nuts on top, Taekwoon took a bite, albeit a bit angrily.  
  
It became a thing of sorts: taking Hongbin where he wanted to go. Every Saturday, Taekwoon would give his whole day to him, only complaining when Hongbin poked too much fun; and all Hongbin could think was he had the best hyung ever.  
  
-  
  
Summer came, and with it: the most terrible news.  
  
It was cancer, not a head cold, never a head cold; always cancer. Why no one had told him was Hongbin’s only question; and for two weeks, he didn’t speak to his father, wouldn’t look Taekwoon in the eye. He would spend his mornings with his mother, playing with her hair; and pretending the tears in his eyes were from his happiness, and not his breaking heart.  
  
-  
  
He turned fourteen that September. His mother was too sick to cook, but Taekwoon had taken over without a qualm, cooking _miyeok guk_ , and even clapping along when Hongbin’s parents sang to him.  
  
He tried not to cry, but it was hard; and eventually it happened: tears that spilled silently, and were brushed away quickly. If anyone noticed, they didn’t say anything.  
  
He couldn’t tell if he was crying because he was touched, or because he was breaking. Maybe it was a bit of both.  
  
-  
  
It was February, and his mother had a hard time walking on her own now. Hongbin stayed most weekends at Taekwoon’s, because his father’s temper had shortened considerably. He didn’t blame him, though.  
  
They slept on the floor, sometimes with Hongbin’s forehead pressed against Taekwoon’s spine; but mostly facing one another, Hongbin’s fingers unabashedly curled around Taekwoon’s wrist. There were times he couldn’t sleep; and others when he couldn’t wake. His body ached most days, but sometimes he felt nothing, lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling; and Taekwoon understanding, never asking; never speaking. And on the nights Hongbin could only choke out a tearful, hyung, Taekwoon’s arms would open up; and there: the solid comfort of his chest and the fluttery heartbeat within it.  
  
Hongbin: lulled to sleep by Taekwoon’s gentle fingers tangled in his hair; and the smell of cologne he loved so much. It was the only time he felt happy.  
  
-  
  
'Hyung, why don't people like me?'  
  
'…who said they don't like you?'  
  
'Kids at school, but don't get mad. I only.. I wanna know why you like me.'  
  
'There's no reason to not like you.'  
  
'Are you sure?'  
  
'Hongbin, what is it?'  
  
'They, they said I was—they said she's sick because—'  
  
'No.'  
  
'—because of me—'  
  
‘ _No_.' Taekwoon fisted the collar of Hongbin's shirt, pulled him so close, so forcefully, he nearly lost his footing; and with his face pressed into Taekwoon's chest, he cried.  
  
Two days later, Taekwoon said: ‘You have to kill them.’  
  
Hongbin sighed. ‘Hyung.’  
  
'Fine. I'll kill them.'  
  
‘ _Hyung_.’  
  
'You have to do something. If you don’t, those assholes aren’t ever going to leave you alone. Beat them up; scare them—’  
  
'Why can't you do it?'  
  
'You know I want to, binnie, but do you want me arrested? I can't go around frightening kids.'  
  
Hongbin chewed the inside of his cheek as he tried not to laugh. ‘You aren’t that much older.’  
  
'Old enough,' and here Taekwoon leaned forward, taking Hongbin's hands with his own. 'Promise me you'll do something. At least say something; make them know they can't do that to you. I mean.. if you don't say something this time, then what about next time? Or the time after that.'  
  
'I don't want there to be that many times.'  
  
'Then do something about it.' He curled his fingers around the nape of Hongbin's neck, brought him closer; and kissed his forehead gently. 'You don't deserve to feel like this.'  
  
-  
  
A week later and Hongbin was on a two day suspension from school for breaking a kid’s nose. They would have given him more punishment, but they knew what was happening at home. It seemed all Hongbin ever got was special treatment; and he hated it. He didn’t want to be special; he simply wanted to be ordinary; an ordinary life with an ordinary family, and a mother who wasn’t losing her hair; completely unable to walk anymore.  
  
He spent both days cleaning every inch of the house until his father demanded he stop, because boys his age shouldn’t be cleaning unless told to; because boys his age should be smiling more. Hongbin wanted to tell him that if he could smile, he would; but it was too hard.  
  
Next door: Hongbin on the bed, and Taekwoon at his desk. He said, ‘Don’t tell your dad,’ and fighting not to smile, ‘but.. good job.’  
  
Hongbin laughed quietly; and god—how wonderful it felt to laugh.  
  
'Do you feel better now?' Taekwoon asked, moving to the bed and huddling close.  
  
'Yeah. He cried.'  
  
'Wha… really?' he pursed his lips tightly together to stop from smiling. 'But.. you know you can't do that all the time. It's not, uh, it's not right.'  
  
'Unless you tell me it is?'  
  
Taekwoon hummed, nodded discretely. ‘Are you hungry?’  
  
'No.'  
  
'Do you want to watch a movie?'  
  
He nodded, asking softly, ‘Can we watch it here?’  
  
'If that's what you want.'  
  
With a blanket spread across Taekwoon’s bedroom floor, Hongbin leaned up against his side, resting his cheek to his shoulder. They were only ten minutes into the movie when he asked: ‘Hyung, do you treat me special?’  
  
'In what way?'  
  
'Every way.'  
  
'Yeah.'  
  
Hongbin, biting his lower lip into his mouth. ‘Is it because of what’s happening?’  
  
'What—no, Hongbin,' and he hooked a finger under Hongbin's chin. 'I treat you special because I like you; and I don't like anyone else'—here: a gentle smile—'but I don't treat you any differently than I would if, you know.. if everything was alright.'  
  
Hongbin studied him a moment, searching his eyes almost desperately; feeling his own begin to water. He blinked the pain away, took Taekwoon’s arm and pulled it around his shoulders; tucked neatly in the warmth of Taekwoon’s side, Hongbin could finally relax.  
  
-  
  
Fifteen came, and was halfway gone when his mother’s once-a-week doctor visits became an almost daily occurrence. The apartment was constantly empty, cold and dark; left without anyone to take care of it. Hongbin stayed at Taekwoon’s almost every night.  
  
He was embarrassed by how dependent he became; how he couldn’t fall asleep without Taekwoon’s fingers in his hair, his own small frame consumed by Taekwoon’s warmth. He never smiled anymore, but with Taekwoon he felt maybe it was possible.  
  
He didn’t cry anymore, because there weren’t any tears left in him; but there was an ache in his chest so immense he thought it would crush him one day. When this happened, and it happened often, he’d seek out Taekwoon’s hand; and with their fingers entwined, Hongbin not holding on because Taekwoon held hard enough for both of them, the ache would subside; and in its place: a fluttery little feeling that would crawl to his throat, and tickle him.  
  
It was Taekwoon who would drive Hongbin to the hospital to visit his mother; and when Hongbin would fall asleep in the passenger seat on the way home, it was Taekwoon who carried him on his back; and put him in bed. Taekwoon who made him breakfast in the mornings, and took him to dinner in the evenings. Now in college, he was able to help Hongbin with any homework he brought home; to answer any questions he had—but the biggest question of all was: why did Hongbin’s chest always feel tight, why did his throat swell shut whenever Taekwoon kissed his forehead goodnight; and why when Hongbin had said,  _Hyung, I think I love you_  did Taekwoon only laugh and say:  _Oh, you think so?_  
  
It was the dead end of spring when Hongbin asked, ‘Do you love me?’  
  
'Of course.'  
  
'What about the other kind of love?'  
  
Taekwoon looked up with wide and startled eyes, forehead deeply creased. ‘Why are you asking that? You shouldn’t ask people that.’  
  
'Well, can you give an answer?'  
  
He merely looked away, looked back at the television as if Hongbin had said nothing.  
  
'Hyung—'  
  
'I'm not talking about this with you.'  
  
Angry for reasons unknown, Hongbin crawled to his feet, arms crossed. He said, ‘fine,’ and left the room.  
  
And right behind him: Taekwoon, grabbing his arm. ‘Where are you going?’  
  
'Can't you just tell me no if it's a no? At least answer me. Just say no!'  
  
Taekwoon said nothing.  
  
'I'm sleeping at home tonight,' he pulled his arm free; and stomped into the hall. Upset that Taekwoon didn't follow him out, didn't ask him to come back; Hongbin buried himself beneath four blankets, left in the dark of the lonely apartment he used to call home.  
  
And at 2AM when he woke with a start, cold sweat making his shirt stick to his chest; he went back into the hall, afraid that if he tried to open the neighboring door it would be locked; but wasn’t. Of course it wasn’t. Then into the bedroom where there was a pillow and blanket on the floor for him; and asleep on his back: Taekwoon.  
  
He crawled under the covers, not the least bit surprised when Taekwoon’s arm fell over him instantly, clutching him tightly to his chest.  
  
They said nothing, because there was nothing to be said.  
  
-  
  
June, and everything fell apart.  
  
His mother never came home anymore, he hardly ever saw her. When he’d visit, she’d be too drugged up to speak or stay awake; and if he stayed the night, he’d only be reminded of how sick she was come morning. She’d grip her bed sheets in pain, always in pain; and he: unable to do anything about it.  
  
It was the 20th of June when Hongbin’s father called and said her condition had worsened. They were going to try one last medication; but if that didn’t work..  
  
He hung up before he could hear the rest. In his chest, the ache bloomed like a large and ugly flower filled with toxins instead of pollen, ruining him; ruining everything.  
  
He ran to Taekwoon’s, shoving the door open so quickly it bounced off the wall, left a dent in the plaster. But no one minded. Why would they?  
  
Into his room, into his arms, hands in tight fists with Taekwoon’s shirt between his fingers, face pressed to his chest; able to feel the pound of his pulse. And for once the fingers in his hair weren’t enough, and the arms holding him didn’t feel strong; he was still cold even with Taekwoon’s warmth all over. Cold, and afraid, and hurting all over.  
  
He’d like to say he wasn’t thinking when he did it, but he knew he was; thinking a lot, actually; thinking too much. Hands at the back of Taekwoon’s head, pulling him down, closer; breathing his air. Hongbin felt the softness of Taekwoon’s cheek against his own, then felt the tip of his nose nuzzle into him; and all at once he pressed their mouths together, and felt the faintest reaction.  
  
His lips were soft, kissing back, but only for a second. It seemed then that he came to his senses, or maybe lost his sense, Hongbin had never figured it out; but with one hard shove Taekwoon pushed him away; and where his palms had touched Hongbin’s chest: marks like burns as if branded by rejection.  
  
Like the twang of fine twine, Hongbin heard every single one of their ties begin to break.  
  
He left; ignoring Taekwoon’s hand that tried to grab his shoulder, pushed him away when he got too close. Back in his own apartment, sat with his back against the locked front door, knees to his chest, face to his knees. He didn’t cry, but instead let the small parts of him that weren’t broken already, shatter.  
  
-  
  
The second week of July, his mother passed away; though he still had Taekwoon, but not all of him; and over the next three weeks what few ties they had left were slowly severed, until nothing remained.  
  
In the end, he too, was gone.  
  
-

 

_The space between  
The bullets in our firefight  
Is where I'll be hiding, waiting for you_

 

three years later  
  
Hongbin wakes with his arm draped over Wonsik’s middle; face buried in the nape of his neck. Wonsik is warm and firm against him, smelling faintly of pine needles and the night before; an underlining of booze that is all too obvious to Hongbin’s hungover senses.  
  
He wakes before his alarm as he does every morning, but only by minutes; and when the irrefutable beeping begins, he’s quick to turn it off. Then out of bed, to the bathroom where he stares long and hard at the dark circles beneath his eyes, and the hollowed look of his cheeks. There’s a kink in his neck, an ache in his backside; and a hickey so absolutely bruised and purple against his collarbone he seriously wonders if Wonsik had been trying to eat him.  
  
6AM; and he’s still a little drunk.  
  
Quick to shower, quick to dress; he takes his messenger bag and slings it over his shoulder; then to the kitchen where he keeps the cold cases of small milk cartons, and a few yogurts. It’s his weekend job; and it really isn’t so bad; could be worse; so he won’t complain about the cold and early mornings.  
  
‘ _Yah_ ,’ he gently nudges a foot against Wonsik’s back. ‘I’m leaving now.’  
  
'…why.'  
  
'Work. Get up.'  
  
'We just went to  _sleep_ —’  
  
'I know, I know,' and crouching down beside him, Hongbin smiles small. 'Sorry, but I'll give you a milk on the way down to make up for it.'  
  
'As if diary products are as good as sleep,' but he's smiling too, little twinkle in his tired eyes.  
  
In the kitchen with a plastic spoon and a peach yogurt, Wonsik asks, ‘do you need me to get your bike for you?’ but his speech is still a bit slurred, whether from sleep or drink Hongbin doesn’t care; he can only imagine the fall Wonsik would take trying to muscle the bike off the balcony.  
  
'no but,' he nuzzles his nose to Wonsik's cheek, 'thanks anyway.'  
  
They’re waiting for the elevator, Hongbin’s bike resting against his side; hands fidgeting with the heavy mass of his messenger bag when Taekwoon arrives beside them. He’s wearing a button up, and a skinny tie; slacks and polished shoes; all topped off with his long hair pulled back into a neat ponytail. From what Hongbin knows, and he doesn’t know a whole lot, Taekwoon works for his father now at some company; SAMSUNG, maybe. As a business major, he can work anywhere; and with the amount of money he makes, is able to stay at Ivory Pines even after both his parents moved out; whereas Hongbin’s dad still sends him rent money every month.  
  
Still being neighbors it was only natural they run into each other every few days, or even a few times every few days; but this morning is the first time Hongbin thinks Taekwoon’s ever seen Wonsik; ever seen a boy leaving with him for that matter; and for whatever reason, he feels slightly embarrassed. He hopes there aren’t any visible marks on him.  
  
'I still feel drunk,' Wonsik mutters in the elevator. Hongbin's too busy trying to become invisible to respond. 'Jae's having a party tonight, actually. Want to go?'  
  
'Hm—what?'  
  
'Jaehwan. Party. Tonight.'  
  
'Oh. Alright.'  
  
'I'll bring you home early, so you can get a little more sleep before work.'  
  
'Thanks.'  
  
'You okay?'  
  
Hongbin’s face flushes a deep red; he had been trying so hard not to glance Taekwoon’s way, but now with the question hanging in front of him, knowing Taekwoon must be thinking  _something_ , he chances a fleeting glance from the corner of his eye; and finds Taekwoon simply staring at his phone, typing something out.  
  
'Yeah, I'm fine,' he says; and wishes somewhere in the back of his head that Taekwoon would look at him.  
  
In front of the apartments Wonsik kisses his cheek, tells him: ‘I’ll pick you up later tonight,’ and off he goes, unsteady footsteps carrying him to the parking garage.  
  
It’s when Hongbin’s trying to even the weight out between his bike and the bag that Taekwoon comes up behind him and says, ‘hey.’  
  
He doesn’t necessarily startle, but..  
  
'Hey..to you.'  
  
'Can I buy one of those?' he points to Hongbin's bag.  
  
'Oh. Sure, yeah,' and without thought, gravitates to the almond milk. 'Here.'  
  
'I don't like almond anymore.'  
  
 _Anymore_ , Hongbin thinks. ‘Banana?’  
  
'Regular is fine,' and in his hand: a jumble of coins.  
  
'No, that's alright. You can just, you can have it.' He pushes off the ground and finds his balance before Taekwoon can say anything else.  
  
-  
  
The party isn’t exactly a party since it’s in a club; and Jaehwan’s so trashed he’s tripping over his own feet, asking Hongbin to kiss him.  
  
'Go kiss Wonsik,' Hongbin tells him, laughing at the ridiculous faces he keeps making.  
  
'I can't kiss your  _boyfriend_ —’  
  
'Gross. Not my boyfriend.'  
  
'Gross?' and he's cackling now, hands over his face. 'Gross, oh my god, Wonsik you're  _gross_!’  
  
Wonsik, only a few paces away, pulls a face; and waves them both off.  
  
An hour later and Hongbin’s drank too much; his head is spinning; his body swaying, probably not even on beat with the music, but there’s no stopping him now. He feels Jaehwan come up behind him, hands on his hips, sees Wonsik making his way across the dance floor; stepping in front of him and pressing their mouths together. So much body heat all around him, smothering him; making him sweat, and all Hongbin can do is lean into it, allowing Wonsik to slip his tongue into his mouth as Jaehwan’s fingers tickle up his sides.  
  
Hongbin can’t stop giggling. It’s all so ridiculous: the florescent of the club so blindingly bright; Wonsik’s hands that become possessive, wrapping around the small of Hongbin’s back; slyly pulling him out of Jaehwan’s reach.  
  
'Go dance with Hyuk,' Wonsik tells him.  
  
'Where is he?' speech so slurred it doesn't even sound like words.  
  
Wonsik points him in the right direction, arm still clutching Hongbin’s middle; and once alone, he whispers, ‘want to go to the bathroom?’  
  
Hongbin’s never one to say no.  
  
So: in a stall with the music still blaring; commotion all around, Hongbin leans his back against the wall and lets Wonsik kiss his neck, his collarbones; he allows him to put his hand down the front of his jeans, and palm him through his boxers.  
  
'You should grow your hair out,' he says without much thought.  
  
Wonsik scoffs. ‘I’d look weird with long hair.’  
  
'At least I'd have something to hold onto. You have, like, nothing; it's— _oh_ ,’ gentle whine as his body tremors. He looks between his legs, watching as Wonsik’s hand works over his cock now pulled from his jeans. ‘Wonsik, I—’ and fisting the back of his shirt, ‘I have to go soon, ok. I have work.’  
  
'I'll take you home after this.'  
  
'You can't drive, you drank—'  
  
'Hyuk will take you then, just stop talking.' He lifts the front of Hongbin's shirt, pulling it up all the way to his neck; nipples exposed, Wonsik leans in and takes one into his mouth.  
  
Hongbin, left panting with weakened knees and butterflies in his stomach, arches his back, eyes slipping shut. He feels when Wonsik pulls away, feels him drop to his knees in front of him; and all he can do is think how badly he wishes Wonsik had a ponytail.  
  
-  
  
Hands bunched in his coat pockets, cigarette hanging loosely from his mouth: Taekwoon, standing in front of Ivory Pines. He’s just come back from taking Hakyeon home; and even though his apartment really isn’t that far, he’s opted to smoke right here, right now, because sometimes Hakyeon can be a bit overbearing; and sometimes anxiety claws at the back of Taekwoon’s throat because of it. Like now.  
  
Except when he decides to sit on the entrance steps with the cigarette now lit, blowing deformed smoke rings above his head, he really doesn’t anticipate Hongbin to come trudging drunkenly up the sidewalk; and he isn’t only a little drunk, but weaving left and right, one foot directly in front of the other; head bowed so deeply Taekwoon isn’t sure if he’s watching his own feet, or sleeping.  
  
Smoking slowly, looking at his hands, fingers trembling from the cold or maybe from Hongbin, Taekwoon ignores him the best he can—which isn’t very well; because one instant Hongbin’s muttering to himself, arms wrapped around his own chest; and the next, he’s leaning too far to the left, body angled almost comically as it seems gravity pulls at his sleeves, forcing him over.. and over, until..  
  
'What the fuck,' Taekwoon whispers as he watches Hongbin fall face first into a cluster of bushes.  
  
He tries not to laugh, tries really fucking hard actually, but it’s useless. He decides if Hongbin’s still lying there when his cigarette is out, he’ll go over and maybe he’ll help him, but until then, he can wait.  
  
And surely enough, Hongbin doesn’t move. Taekwoon isn’t surprised.  
  
To his feet, dawdling, not sure if he should go; but sure that Hongbin will stay there all night if he doesn’t; and so: swallowing his anxiety, he walks like a man faced against a minefield, unsure where he can comfortably step, and where a bomb may go off. Inching closer until he’s able to peer over the bushes, peer down at Hongbin who has an arm thrown over his face, the other resting on his stomach. Is he asleep?  
  
'What are you doing?' Taekwoon asks softly.  
  
Hongbin says, ‘relaxing.’  
  
'Why are you down there?'  
  
'I  _said_  I’m relaxing.’  
  
Taekwoon scoffs; and turns to leave, but as he heads back to the entrance, he hears Hongbin call out, softly: ‘Hyung?’ and stops completely. How long since he’s been called that? Too long.  
  
'What.'  
  
'Can you help me up?' Hongbin's tone, pained and so obviously embarrassed, as if he's afraid of what Taekwoon's thinking; and all Taekwoon wants to do is shake him a little, tell him: don't worry what I'm thinking; I think nothing different of you—but, why say all that when he only needs help to his feet?  
  
He offers his hand, and helps Hongbin up; only to find that he can’t stand on his own at all. His hand slips from Taekwoon’s and he would have fallen right back down had Taekwoon not grabbed him by the shoulders.  
  
'Do you do this a lot?' he asks, maneuvering himself almost expertly. He crouches down, tugging Hongbin's arms around his neck; then very carefully, very quickly, hoists him onto his back.  
  
Hongbin doesn’t seem to realize he’s no longer on the ground. ‘Do what?’  
  
'Drink on school nights.'  
  
'Oh, shut up.'  
  
In the elevator, leaning so far forward Taekwoon is afraid he may topple over if Hongbin shifts too suddenly. He braces himself and asks: ‘Why did your boyfriend leave you like this, huh? He could have walked you up.’  
  
'He didn't bring me home,' pressing his cheek to the nape of Taekwoon's neck. 'Anyway, he isn't my boyfriend.'  
  
'No?'  
  
'No. He's just someone I fuck, and I fuck a lot of people.' He says this so carelessly, so slurred and loose tongued that Taekwoon's actually shocked.  
  
He simply says, ‘Oh,’ and waits for the elevator to arrive on their floor; then to the door, dropping Hongbin onto his feet. ‘Do you need help in?’  
  
'Yes.'  
  
'Yes, you really do?'  
  
'Yes.'  
  
'Alright, give me your keys,' and upon opening the door: nostalgia, crashing down on Taekwoon's head like a giant weight. To look at the apartment was to accept heartache; the layout, the decorations; everything, exactly the same as it had been the last time Taekwoon was there; and even though Hongbin's dad had moved back to the Gangnam District the year before, it seems as if Hongbin had been afraid of touching anything, making it any different.  
  
On the counters, the bookshelves: things that Taekwoon himself bought so many years before. He wonders if Hongbin remembers.  
  
'Can you make it the rest of the way on your own?'  
  
Hongbin’s response is something between a gurgle and a groan.  
  
'What?'  
  
And he’s too far gone to even open his eyes, head lolled back on his neck, making it look broken, making himself look broken; and all Taekwoon can think is:  _are you serious?_  
  
He picks Hongbin up bridal style, surprised by how much he doesn’t weigh; then into the bedroom, dropping him carefully on the bed, ignoring the grip on his wrist as Hongbin digs his fingertips against Taekwoon’s pulse.  
  
'Don't go,' he mumbles.  
  
'I don't think you really want to say that.'  
  
'I do.'  
  
'No.'  
  
'Wonsik, stop—'  
  
Taekwoon shakes his hand away. ‘You’re confused.’  
  
'No, I'm not,' whining now, half asleep and reaching for Taekwoon's hand. 'I don't want you to leave.'  
  
'No one's leaving you,' Taekwoon tells him, brushing a hand through the back of Hongbin's hair. 'You'll wake up tomorrow and everything will be the same, so don't worry.'  
  
'You smell different.'  
  
'Who are you talking to?'  
  
Giggling, ‘You.’  
  
'Who am I?'  
  
'Wonsik.'  
  
Taekwoon sighs. ‘What do I smell like, then?’  
  
Whispering, as if not wanting to say it at all, ‘Hyung.’  
  
'…goodnight,' and keeping his fingers tangled in Hongbin's hair until his breathing becomes even, Taekwoon slips out the front door, not allowing himself to acknowledge the pain in his chest.  
  
-  
  
Two weeks later, in the hallway between his apartment and Taekwoon’s: Hongbin stands with Wonsik in front of him.  
  
'I need you to help me study tonight,' Hongbin says.  
  
'Study for what?'  
  
'I've that test on Friday, and no one to study with; so I have to put you to use now.'  
  
Wonsik snorts, shakes his head. ‘I can’t help. I’m not good with that shit.’  
  
'But—'  
  
He motions to himself. ‘College dropout, or did you already forget?’  
  
'No..'  
  
'Why don't you go to the library? I bet you'll get a lot of studying done there.'  
  
'I need someone with me though.'  
  
'Take Hyuk.'  
  
Hongbin crosses his arms. ‘You mean the only kid we know who’s still in high school?’  
  
'Maybe he'll take it as practice, you know, like,'—Hongbin's breath catches in his throat, subtle little tickle; there and then gone—'for when he's in college.'  
  
'Alright. Go home now.'  
  
'What, are you serious?'  
  
'I have to study!'  
  
Wonsik laughs softly, putting an arm around Hongbin’s middle. ‘Don’t study too hard, huh?’ Kissing the corner of his mouth, he says: ‘I’ll come by in a couple days. Just call me.’  
  
Then he’s leaving and Hongbin’s left standing there, shuffling his feet, wishing Wonsik was easier to persuade.  
  
Back into his apartment with the door left open, he hears a soft: ‘I can help you study,’ come from the hallway.  
  
Hongbin pokes his head out. ‘Eavesdropping?’ he asks Taekwoon, who’s standing with a cigarette behind his ear, hair framing his face; looking far too fucking calm.  
  
'I was two feet away,' he says, arching an eyebrow.  
  
'I didn't ask you to help me.'  
  
'No, but I'm offering to.'  
  
Silence, not entirely awkward, but surely not comfortable. Hongbin weighs his options, and realizes he doesn’t really have any. So: a little irritated, a little confused, he says: ‘Let me change. We’ll go to the library,’ and that’s how, thirty minutes later, he finds himself in the passenger seat of Taekwoon’s car; going 60 in a 45 zone.  
  
The car’s different, not the same one he rode in all the times before; falling asleep with his forehead to the window and his knees to his chest; and he’s slightly happy to not be in that car. It would have been too much.  
  
They don’t talk on the drive there. Taekwoon plays the radio too loud for conversation to even be possible, and Hongbin’s a little grateful for that. What would they say anyway?  
  
Then to the library; looking up at all five floors, unsure which one they should go to, but it seems Taekwoon knows. Hongbin follows far behind, not wanting people to think they’re together; and not quite understanding why that is.  
  
He’s surprised, and maybe a little annoyed, by how easy it is to fall back into routine with Taekwoon; how sitting across him with all the school books spread out between them brings back the most vivid memories of the times in Taekwoon’s room, having to read text books and spread sheets he didn’t entirely understand.  
  
Taekwoon’s a good study partner, which makes Hongbin even more annoyed; and he’s a good listener, which is also bullshit. But he’s thankful to have someone there with him even if he wishes it were Wonsik instead. And an hour later, feeling at least partway confident that he’ll pass the test on Friday, Hongbin begins packing his books back into his bag, ignoring Taekwoon who won’t stop looking at him.  
  
'Can I ask you something?'  
  
Hongbin looks up, looks at him; studies him hard, and sees a glimmer in his eyes he doesn’t like. ‘No.’  
  
'Hongbin.'  
  
'Unless it's about what we just covered: no.'  
  
Silently sitting in Taekwoon’s car, stopped at a red light, trying hard not to look at each other; Hongbin rests his forehead to the window, feeling the cold from outside; and overhead: a gentle fog of cloud, making the evening sky that much darker.  
  
Then at the apartments, nearly jumping out of the car without so much as a goodbye, but it doesn’t matter how quickly Hongbin tries to get away, because Taekwoon’s there, right on his heels, grabbing his arm and saying: ‘Are we never going to talk about it?’  
  
'Hell no we're not.'  
  
'Then how are we supposed to fix it?'  
  
'Why do you want it fixed?' He snatches his arm back, scoffing. 'I don't want to talk about this, Taekwoon.'  
  
'Well, I do.'  
  
Demanding, angrily, ‘Why?’  
  
'Because I want to know—'  
  
'What the hell is there to know?'  
  
Heavy sigh, Taekwoon’s shoulders slouch. ‘Why you stopped talking to me.’  
  
'You know why,' but Taekwoon only shakes his head. 'Okay, fine. I have a question for you then.' Hongbin adjusts the strap of his messenger bag, feeling his legs grow a little weaker. Sweat on his palms, he can't stop licking his bottom lip; nervous tick. 'Why did you shove me away? Can you answer that. Or are you going to avoid it like that time I asked if you loved me.'  
  
Here: Taekwoon, standing as if stunned, eyes slightly wider. ‘Hongbin, you—you were a kid. How—’  
  
'I was not a kid.'  
  
'You were fifteen!'  
  
'Sixteen!'  
  
'No, not yet you weren't. You stopped talking to me when you were sixteen—and anyway, that's still young. I was in college for fuck's sake, Hongbin. I couldn't.. if I'd have kissed you, you would have hated me.'  
  
Shaking his head, anger rising high, ‘No. You think you know how it felt—’ and to his complete disgust, Hongbin hears the quiver in his voice. ‘That night I needed you. More than I ever did, and you, you— _you didn’t even apologize_.’  
  
'Don't yell, please.'  
  
'You're not even apologizing now!'  
  
'Would you accept it if I did?'  
  
'No. But that isn't the point.' About face and walking quickly for the entrance only to be stopped again by Taekwoon's persistent pull.  
  
'I want to fix this,' he says.  
  
Hongbin, shouting without meaning to, angry at the tears on his face and the ache in his chest: ‘Well, I don’t!’ and just like that, he felt it happen: the space between them that was already so vast growing immense, and Taekwoon: shutting up, shutting down; his face wiped clean of any emotion.  
  
Taekwoon says nothing. He simply takes a step back, and shoves his hands in his pockets. He’s walking away before Hongbin can take back what he’s said, not that he would; but he’s crying now, hard and silent and wishing he knew how to control his anger.  
  
Standing there, thin frame trembling, wind blowing the lapels of his jacket; feeling his heart break for the millionth time in his life; and wondering, wondering why is it so easy for Taekwoon to walk away?  
  
 _Come back_ , he thinks;  _come back and argue with me_.  
  
But then all too suddenly, footsteps coming closer; deliberate, angry footsteps, the click of hard heels against pavement, echoing in the empty parking garage; and Hongbin looking up just in time to see Taekwoon’s face unbearably close, to feel his hand cupping his jaw; and then his mouth, as soft as he remembered, presses firmly against his own.  
  
Hongbin once heard someone say that time stops for love; and maybe that’s true, because in the split second that Taekwoon’s mouth is on his, it feels like a lifetime; as if the world around them is suddenly erased and replaced by something all theirs. His legs begin to wobble, his hands, fingers vibrating; but what feels perfect one instant feels overbearingly terrifying in the next; and Hongbin, hands clenched into fists, shoves Taekwoon away, afraid to lose him and afraid to keep him all at once. He shouts: ‘what the hell is  _wrong_  with you—’ and running, running fast; not wanting to be touched, not wanting to be alone; through the entrance doors and into the elevator, crying before the doors have even shut.  
  
He calls Wonsik and tells him he’ll die if he can’t see him, because there’s a hole in his heart that won’t close; and all the pain from before, all those years ago, still burns with fervor; reminding him that his heart still hasn’t forgotten, nor has it forgiven.  
  
It takes twenty minutes for Wonsik to get there, and five minutes for Hongbin to get his clothes off. He kisses hard, painfully, wanting Wonsik to know that this isn’t going to be like all the other times. It has to hurt.  _He_  has to hurt.  
  
'Did you call me here for sex?' Wonsik laughs, a bit uneasily. 'I mean, really?'  
  
'Is that a problem?' Hongbin's trying to unbuckle Wonsik's belt, but his fingers are shaking too much. 'You call me for sex all the time.'  
  
'Yeah, no I don't mind. It's just, you know, you never.. do this,' and is that excitement in his voice? Of course, Hongbin thinks. Of course.  
  
'You're, like, totally using me, aren't you?'  
  
Hongbin bites his lower lip, sighs. ‘I am, actually. I really am.’  
  
'Awesome.'  
  
'Jesus.. just get your clothes off.'  
  
On the floor, forget the bed or the couch or the pillows and blankets; Hongbin no longer has patience, barely has stability anymore. He clings hard to Wonsik, legs wrapped around his hips; blunt nails digging into his back. When he hears a sharp gasp, Wonsik sucking air through his teeth, excitement spikes painfully in his stomach.  
  
He’s fucked breathless, thighs trembling, tears caught in his eyelashes; fucked until he can’t feel anything except the pain between his legs; and still he clutches Wonsik close, demanding he go harder; crying out as he comes and not caring how loud he is.  
  
Then: side by side, sweaty and naked, fingers entwined lazily; Wonsik says, ‘That’s the first time you’ve ever called me that.’  
  
'Called you what?'  
  
'Hyung.'  
  
Hongbin feels his blood chill. ‘I.. really?’  
  
'Didn't even realize, huh?'  
  
'I'm sorry.'  
  
'What for?'  
  
Hongbin, staring up at the ceiling, feeling the pain wash right back over him. ‘I don’t know.’  
  
-  
  
Three days later, a little drunk, a little desperate, Hongbin finds himself banging loudly on Taekwoon’s front door. It’s one in the morning. He has no idea what he’s doing, or what he’s going to say, but as the door swings open, he’s prepared to say anything as long as Taekwoon will talk back; but..  
  
It isn’t Taekwoon who answers. It’s someone Hongbin’s never seen before, and he’s smiling kindly, brightly, wearing a shirt Hongbin’s seen Taekwoon wear before.  
  
'Sorry,' he whispers, running quickly back to his own apartment, ignoring the boy when he says,  _hey, wait_.  
  
Huddled in the kitchen, back against the wall, Hongbin doesn’t know how he’s supposed to feel. He’s jealous, he’s hurt, he’s annoyed; he doesn’t want Taekwoon with someone else; he wants him alone, thinking of him and him only—  
  
There’s a knock on the door; Hongbin curses himself.  
  
'Sorry,' he shouts. 'Never mind!'  
  
'Hongbin, open the fucking door.' Taekwoon's tone isn't unkind, but a bit exasperation; maybe a little tired.  
  
Tiny peek, door cracked barely enough for Hongbin to look out into the hall; and Taekwoon sighing loudly, shoving the door open without warning, barging in and crowding Hongbin against the kitchen wall.  
  
Hongbin, weak, so weak, his heart in his mouth. He feels hot but he’s shaking; he can feel Taekwoon’s breath, smell his cologne.  
  
'What did you need?' he asks gently.  
  
'I don't know.'  
  
'Did you have something to say?'  
  
'No.'  
  
'Then, what is it.'  
  
'I just, I wanted to see you. I guess. Look at you. I haven't,' staring at his feet, suddenly too embarrassed to breathe. He feels Taekwoon's fingers touch his jaw, then his shoulder; feels him come closer, teasing him; mouth only centimeters away and Hongbin's body yearning to feel how soft his lips are again, and again..  
  
'Is that your boyfriend?' he blurts out.  
  
'Who, Hakyeon?'  
  
Hongbin shrugs.  
  
'No, he's not my boyfriend.' He pauses here, as if thinking something over, and adds rather calmly: 'He's just someone I fuck, and I fuck a lot of people.'  
  
Hongbin’s mouth falls open, heart ready to burst. ‘You.. what?’ and realizing a moment too late that this is something Taekwoon would never say; and his tone.. so mocking that— ‘Did I tell you that?’  
  
'Yeah. So, what did you want tonight?'  
  
'Well, I wanna take back that  _I fuck a lot of people_  bit..’  
  
'It's alright. Already forgotten.'  
  
'I guess that's it.'  
  
Taekwoon trails a finger along Hongbin’s jaw, says: ‘When you figure out what it is you want to say to me, let me know.’ Then gone, into the hall, back home; and leaving Hongbin a burning mess.  
  
-  
  
 _hongbin 02:21  
I don’t think I can sleep with you anymore  
  
wonsik 02:23  
seriously? ..did I do something wrong  
  
hongbin 02:23  
no  
  
wonsik 02:24  
are you tired of me nowㅠㅠ  
  
hongbin 02:26  
I like someone else  
  
hongbin 02:33  
are you upset  
  
wonsik 02:38  
a little  
  
hongbin 02:39  
don’t stop talking to me ok  
  
wonsik 02:42  
never  
  
hongbin 02:43  
뽀뽀_  
  
-  
  
It’s another week before Hongbin has a faint idea of what to say; and even then, he’s pretty clueless. He thinks the reason he’s standing outside Taekwoon’s door at midnight isn’t because he’s had some great epiphany, or even that he really wants to be there; but more because he’s gotten very annoyed with himself, sitting on the edge of his bed, sometimes for an hour, thinking about Taekwoon’s hands, sometimes his smile. It’s been a long time since Hongbin’s seen him smile.  
  
Leaning against the door frame, tired eyes blinking slowly, Taekwoon silently asks:  _what is it?_  
  
'I forgive you,' is what Hongbin says, though it isn't until the words are actually out and in the air that he realizes, yeah; yeah I do. ‘…and I’m sorry,’ faint tremor in his voice, ‘that I put you in a, a weird situation.. and that—’ pressure on the back of his neck as Taekwoon reaches for him, pulling him into his chest; hands buried in the back of his hair.  
  
Being there: pressed to Taekwoon’s firm chest with the overpowering scent of his cologne everywhere at once has Hongbin’s heart slowly steadying itself. He burrows closer, holding on as tightly as he can, hearing a soft gasp as air rushes from Taekwoon’s lungs, and still: he doesn’t make Hongbin let go.  
  
But then, like so many times before: Hongbin, coming to his sense all too quickly; he pulls back, shoves Taekwoon hard. ‘There’s something you have to tell me first.’  
  
'Okay.'  
  
'Do you love me?'  
  
Slight lift at the corner of Taekwoon’s mouth. ‘Yes.’  
  
'The other kind of love?'  
  
He nods; and Hongbin, feeling the pressure of tears in his throat, pushes the hair off his forehead in an attempt to look composed, well put together; but then he’s opening his mouth and he’s asking, ‘why,’ only it doesn’t sound like a word, only a whimper that shatters his pride.  
  
Taekwoon shrugs. ‘I always loved you, and.. I think once you start loving someone, you don’t really ever stop.’  
  
'I did.'  
  
'You were young.'  
  
Lower lip trembling, feeling the urge to retreat back home, Hongbin takes a cautionary step back; and isn’t surprised when Taekwoon takes his wrist. He curls his fingers in the back of Hongbin’s hair, tipping his chin up just slightly.  
  
'Can I kiss you?'  
  
Hongbin inhales deeply, covers Taekwoon’s hand with his own. He closes his eyes when he feels fingers trace over his cheekbones, over his lips; and then very softly, the press of Taekwoon’s mouth; this time so different than all the others.  
  
He melts into it, lets himself fall forward against Taekwoon’s chest, fingers gripping the collar of his shirt; and when he feels Taekwoon start to pull away, he follows him, two handfuls of his hair to stop him from moving, because he’s waited too long for this to be over so soon.  
  
Taekwoon nuzzles his nose against his cheek, forehead resting to Hongbin’s temple. He says, ‘You’ll stop running away now, won’t you?’  
  
Hongbin, kissing him again, pressing their bodies fully together, nods. He feels the uncomfortable weight in his chest he’s held onto for too long slowly begin to ease.  
  
-  
  
7 months later  
  
Hongbin’s developed a habit of holding Taekwoon’s hand whenever possible; even when they’re lying in bed, even when he’s asleep; he’ll wake with his fingers carded between Taekwoon’s, feeling the cramp in his joints from holding too hard but never letting go; not even when the pain becomes too much, because—well, he doesn’t actually know why, but he thinks maybe he’s afraid to let go.  
  
Taekwoon tells him he doesn’t have to be scared of anything, because he’ll never be alone again; and Hongbin believes him, but it isn’t that he thinks Taekwoon will float away from him; or leave him; or disappear, though sometimes he has dreams all of this happens. It’s that he simply feels lost when Taekwoon isn’t touching him, like a child in a supermarket who’s lost sight of their parent, he begins to panic; feeling lonely in every sense.  
  
Dependent again, completely so, but no longer embarrassed by it; he knows Taekwoon will keep his word even if, in the end, he doesn’t keep Hongbin’s heart.  
  
-  
  
2AM; and Hongbin can’t sleep.  
  
He taps a finger to Taekwoon’s nose; and taps again when he doesn’t wake. One more time and he hears a guttural,  _‘what the hell do you want, binnie.’_  
  
'Nothing.' He waits.  
  
And finally, smiling gently, Taekwoon wraps both arms around Hongbin’s middle, pulls him to his chest; and with his chin resting on Hongbin’s head, tangles his fingers in the back of his hair.  
  
Hongbin falls asleep almost instantly.


End file.
